Starcaster Complete Series Boxed Set

by J. N. Chaney

Kira sniffed. “No, that’s actually bullshit. But it still wasn’t a request.”

  She turned, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on.”

  Kira didn’t look back and just started walking. She wondered if Damien might just refuse. But she heard his footsteps fall in behind hers in the corridor, and just kept walking.

  She walked with him across the Code Nebula campus, to the beginning of the obstacle course. From here, they followed a winding path that rose as it progressed up a ridge. Most of the way was shaded by lush trees, but when they reached a broad clearing, Kira stopped. From here, two more paths diverged, one striking out further uphill to the left, while the right-hand way fell into marshy low ground. Further to their right, the clearing looked over a portion of the obstacle course, a series of progressively higher walls in drier low-ground about a hundred meters away.

  Damien looked around. “Well, this is—” He looked around again. “—random. Any particular reason we’ve come here, or did you just want to go for a walk in the sun?”

  Kira turned to Damien. “I brought you here because I made a friend here. It was during my upgrade training. We were doing a cross-country run, and according to a map my friend managed to sneak a look at, we were supposed to go that way.” She pointed at the right-hand path, the one that descended.

  “Okay. Um—”

  Kira just went on. “That leads into the Fire Swamps. Supposedly an awful, terrible place. It’s really just Code Nebula folklore, though. If you go that way, you’re going to get wet feet, but that’s about it.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Kira? Why are we here?”

  She turned back to Damien. “Because that friend, a woman named Rainer, ended up being captured by the squids on an op gone wrong. I was the one commanding that op. I got captured, too.”

  Damien just stared for a moment. “You never told me about that.”

  “I’ve never told anyone about it, except those who needed to know. The op was a covert one, and there’s a whole shitload of security and secrecy regs involved. More to the point, I just don’t want to tell anyone about it.”

  “So you’re telling me about it now because you think it can help me,” Damien replied, a sour note of sarcasm tinging his voice.

  But Kira shook her head. “No. I’m telling you about it to give you some context.”

  “For what?”

  “For letting me Join with you, so I can share with you what we went through. What I went through.”

  Damien looked up at the other path, the one that led toward even higher ground. “So that was the right path?”

  “It was. Rainer thought she was being clever, sneaking a look at the map, but it was a trap, a deliberate ruse to trick us into going the wrong way. We had to Join with the instructors monitoring the run to find out the truth, and not let them catch us doing it.”

  “I gather you succeeded,” Damien said.

  “I did. That’s because I’m a damned good Joiner.” She pushed her gaze into Damien’s. “That didn’t stop the squids from doing what they did to me.”

  Damien looked back at the path leading down, then the other one, leading up. Time passed. Kira let it.

  Finally, he turned back to her. “You really think this will help?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was alone with what happened to me, until I wasn’t and there were other ’Casters, other people I could lean on.”

  “Like Thorn,” Damien said.

  “Yeah, like Thorn.”

  He looked between the two paths, then back at Kira.

  “So what do you need me to do?”

  They made their way back to Code Nebula slowly, ambling back along the winding footpath through the trees. Aside from the soft hiss of wind through the leaves and needles, and the occasional hum of a bug or flutter of a bird, the only sound was their footsteps against the packed dirt.

  As soon as Code Nebula came once more into sight through the trees, though, Damien stopped.

  “So what happened to them?”

  Kira stopped as well. “To whom?”

  “Rainer, and Riley, and Gillis.”

  “The squids sent Gillis back to ON space as a sort of message, I guess. He died aboard the Hecate when a bomb they’d implanted in him detonated. As for Rainer and Riley—” She shrugged. “I don’t know. They haven’t showed up as Skins anywhere in the Fleet that I know of, so, I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much or too hard.”

  “Look, Kira, I appreciate what you’ve tried to do for me. You being inside my head was a way more pleasant experience than—”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

  “Anyway, I’m so sorry for what happened to you and your friends. But as terrible as it was, you were able to fight back. I’m just a diplomat, a guy who’s good at talking. I should never have been there in the first place.” His shoulders slumped more and more as he spoke, and his gaze dropped into the dirt.

  Kira stepped forward, planting herself in front of him. “I’m not done yet.”

  He looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Being rescued by Thorn didn’t heal me. All of the counseling and support and afterwards didn’t heal me. See, here’s the thing. I’m still not healed. I never will be. My captivity by the squids, and the things they did to me—they’ll always be a part of who I am.” As she spoke, she lifted her hand and looked at her index finger. “You can’t even tell it was 3-D printed in a lab, can you?”

  “No.”

  “I can. And I always will.”

  “I think I asked you earlier where you were going with all of this, so pardon me while I ask it again.”

  “Can I Join with you again?” Kira asked.

  Damien blinked. “I—sure. Why?”

  “It won’t take long,” Kira replied, then extended her thoughts to once more encompass Damien’s. She made her entry into his mind as gentle as possible, and carefully avoided delving into his thoughts too deeply. That’s not why she was here, even if there were things she was at least curious about.

  But Damien trusted her, and she wasn’t about to violate that. Instead, she remembered the thing she specifically intended to remember, and let Damien remember it, too.

  Not long after Thorn had rescued her, she’d been part of a desperate effort to save a large ON task force from a Nyctus trap. She’d Joined with a squid shaman Thorn had captured, then used its identity to mask herself, and infiltrated the thoughts of other squids aboard a Nyctus battleship. Her subterfuge had allowed her to briefly seize control of the ship, turn its formidable weapons on other squid ships, and ultimately crash it into a battlecruiser. It had been a turning point in the battle.

  But Kira focused on one memory in particular, recalling it in as much detail as she could, for Damien’s sake.

  Only a moment before the collision with the battlecruiser, she’d Joined with a dying shaman aboard the doomed battleship’s bridge. It had tried to remain defiant, claiming that the ON had won nothing that day. But she’d felt the shaman’s acrid, spiraling fear, and slammed back thoughts just as defiant.

  I guess we’ll see. Meantime, though, you’ve definitely lost. And now, you’re going to die. How does that feel, knowing that death is coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do about it?

  She lingered on that moment, on the savage glee of deceiving, and then defeating these Nyctus. Hundreds of them had died when the two ships collided, and thousands more in the brutal ON attack on the disrupted squid battle-line that followed.

  And Kira had savored every second of it.

  She withdrew from Damien’s mind, leaving him staring at her.

  “Revenge isn’t a good motivation, Kira. It diminishes us,” he finally said.

  “Oh, bullshit. Revenge is one of the most human motivations there is. If you let it define you, then sure, it can become an obsession and ultimately destroy you. But used properly, it’s one of the best motivators around. But, if it bot
hers you, just call it justice instead.”

  “Cynical? You?”

  “No, I’m just realistic. War has a way of stripping away the crap we use to pretty up some unpleasant truths.”

  Damien looked at Code Nebula. “So what are you suggesting I do?”

  “First, accept that what happened is part of who you are now, and always will be. Then, hit back. Get revenge. Or justice. Anyway, stop making yourself into the villain. You’re not. They are. So make them account for it.”

  He looked back. “Sure. That sounds good. But how?”

  Kira gave a hard, thin smile. “I have an idea about that, too.”

  “It’s an intriguing idea, I must admit,” Admiral Scoville said, his eyes narrowed in thought. Kira had made her pitch, so now she and Damien just waited for the Admiral’s response over the comm-link from Code Gauntlet.

  “So how would this work?” he finally asked. “We’ve had Starcasters scoping out our ships for some time now, looking for Skins. How would this be any better than that?”

  “Sir, do you remember the two Starcasters Lieutenant Stellers traveled with, when he first met the Danzur? The two that turned out to be Skins?” Kira asked.

  “I do.”

  “Even he couldn’t sense that they’d been turned, and he’s—well, he’s Thorn Stellers. Joining by itself just isn’t enough.”

  “Well aware, Lieutenant. Even sometimes keeps me awake at night, wondering how badly we’ve been infiltrated.”

  Kira looked at Damien. “What we need is someone who’s an expert in reading people, not just thoughts. And Damien here is. Between that, and my Joining, I think we’ve got a much better chance of uncovering any Skins than a Joiner would alone.”

  “What do you have to say about this, Forester?” Scoville asked Damien.

  “We need to roll up these Skins, sir. Each and every one. And we need to do it soon. Hell, we need to do it now.”

  Scoville gave a slow nod. “I read the report on the incident that occurred during the interrogation. Sorry that happened to you. I get where you’re coming from.”

  Scoville tapped a finger against his desk, then gave a quick, firm nod. “Lieutenant Wixcombe, your proposal is approved. Effectively immediately, you and Forester are detached for special duty, visiting ships across the fleet to uncover Skins. We’ll get it cleared with the diplomatic folks, and get a schedule worked up here, to ensure priority ships get done first. You’ll report directly to my office, to my Adjutant.”

  Kira couldn’t help smiling. She noticed that Damien smiled, too, the first genuine smile she’d seen from him since she’d arrived at Code Nebula. That made her smile a little more.

  “Understood, sir,” she replied.

  “For the duration, Forester, you’re a Mission Specialist, with the acting rank of Lieutenant,” Scoville went on.

  Damien’s smile faded. “I’ve got no training as a soldier, sir. And I’m a little old to be dragging myself out of bed at some forsaken hour, trying to keep up with recruits half my age.”

  Scoville laughed. It was the first time Kira had ever seen that, too. “Don’t need you to be a soldier, Forester. We need you to just be you.”

  “I think I can pull that off, sir.”

  Kira waited to sign off, but Scoville’s image turned to her. “Lieutenant Wixcombe, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s unclear chains of command. Makes things messy. Introduces mistakes. To avoid that, and ensure it’s clear who’s in command of your little detachment, and give you a little more clout as you go about your work, I’m promoting you to Lieutenant-Commander, effective immediately.”

  Kira just stared. Promoted? Lieutenant-Commander?

  Damien, though, grinned something resembling his old grin and clapped her on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Kira. Or should I say, congratulations, boss?”

  21

  Thorn put his hands on his hips and looked around. “You know, for a race known for its high tech, these Imbrogul are really in touch with nature.”

  Bertilak grunted his agreement, but kept his head craned back, staring in wonder. Yinzut gave a slow blink.

  “It’s because of their facility with technology that they so immerse themselves in the natural world,” the Astarti said.

  Thorn nodded back. Immerse was right.

  The meeting place, appropriately enough called The Glade, was a broad expanse of grass enclosed all around by soaring trees. Their silvery-grey trunks were so smooth and straight they could have been artificial columns. But ten meters overhead, they flung out a spray of branches laden with broad, golden leaves. These had woven themselves together into a tight canopy, one so thick that no daylight shone through. Instead, lamps were hung from the lower branches, casting a warm, golden light across The Glade.

  Yinzut led them to a cluster of circular benches arrayed around a brazier that glowed with a flickering, gilded light. It looked like fire, but produced no heat or smoke. Thorn had originally thought it was just another sort of tech, but now that he’d got closer to it, he wasn’t sure. On impulse, he extended a sliver of perception on a current of magic, and examined the brazier that way.

  That confirmed it. This wasn’t tech, but it wasn’t something strictly natural, either. It was magic.

  “The Imbrogul can use magic,” he said to Bertilak.

  The alien pushed up his lower lip. “Good to know. Let’s just hope they also don’t abuse magic.”

  “We do not,” a new voice said. Thorn looked at the speaker, and saw a tall, lithe and willowy figure stepping out of the trees from a discreet path. Four others followed. All were clad in simple, loose-fitting tunics and trousers in a variety of mostly earth-tones, and were barefoot. Their features were fine and elfin, and so pale and delicate they could have been rendered in porcelain.

  They looked, Thorn thought, nothing like the apparently highly-advanced, technologically-savvy race they were. If anything, they reminded him of the members of a farming commune he’d once encountered, back during his days as a laborer cleaning up polluted worlds. They’d been similarly simple, barefoot, homespun clothing types. But the resemblance was only superficial, he knew, admonishing himself for letting outward appearance start coloring his judgment about these people.

  “I meant no offense,” Bertilak said, bowing deeply.

  “And none was taken. I am Ondric, Speaker of the Council of the Tree. I, and my four companions, are responsible for overseeing trade and commercial relations with others.” He looked past Thorn. “Yinzut, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Same,” the Astarti replied. Her voice, which Thorn had got used to, suddenly went back to sounding harsh and guttural compared to the almost musical lilt of the Imbrogul. Even the translators, which the Astarti had preloaded into their database when the Imbrogul had agreed to the meeting, portrayed some of its lyrical tone.

  “Allow me to introduce Thorn Stellers, representing the human realm of the Allied Stars. As to his large friend Bertilak, he too represents the Allied Stars—and Thorn, as his battle companion and advisor.”

  Thorn grinned. “He tells jokes too, but don’t let it go to his head.”

  Bertilak boomed with laughter. “You forgot my good looks.”

  “And that too,” Thorn said, clapping Bertilak on a meaty shoulder.

  “Now, where were we?” As Yinzut spoke, a faint but distinct scent vaguely reminiscent of mint wafted into Thorn’s nose. Yinzut had explained that odors were a part of Imbrogul communication. The Astarti maintained an olfactory database, approved by the Imbrogul, approximating the various aromas as closely as possible. These were indexed by whatever mood or emotion they represented. Since the Astarti were effectively gatekeepers for the Imbrogul, it was important they could prepare potential visitors as much as possible.

  The smell like mint meant approval, or agreement, Thorn remembered. He took that as a good sign.

  “We have heard of humans, but I don’t think we’ve ever met your species,” Ondric said.

 
Thorn immediately extended his hand, but Ondric simply stared at it. Thorn offered a sheepish smile.

  “My apologies. It’s our custom to grasp hands as a form of greeting. I’m not used to making what amounts to first contact like this. I hope you’ll forgive any clumsy moves on my part.” Thorn had withdrawn his hand, and now glanced from Ondric, to it, then back. “Like that one.”

  Ondric’s expression changed little, but the sharp smell of mint intensified. “The Astarti have already explained to us that you’re not a formal diplomatic mission. Rather, you’re a—”

  The translator failed on the word, so Thorn only heard a word that involved a trilling sound, and a click from Ondric’s tongue. The Imbrogul paused, then looked at Yinzut. A tang like cedar-wood now wafted from the Imbrogul. That was—uncertainty, he recalled.

  “The idea you’re attempting to share is magic. There’s enough difference between how you and Thorn conceptualize it to cause confusion, though,” Yinzut said. She went on to mention Thorn’s moving of the three asteroids using magic. Ondric had apparently already heard the story, and now cedar changed back to mint.

  “Ah. You Sing,” Ondric said to Thorn.

  Who blinked. He was pretty sure he’d been smelling like cedar, too. “Sing? Well, kind of. Mainly when I have too much to drink.”

  This time, Ondric and the other Imbrogul smelled of something fresh, like rain. That was humor.

  “To Sing is how we can affect the universe. We each have some insight into the Song of Creation, and our respective roles within it.”

  Thorn just stared blankly. He’d be reeking of a whole cedar forest, if he was Imbrogul. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sorry.”

  Ondric smelled briefly of cedar, then something not far off the smell of a freshly-turned earth. That was certainty, the scent of a decision. A moment later, he began to speak. The translator didn’t even touch it, though, so all Thorn heard was more of the musical Imbrogul inflections. He glanced at Yinzut.

  Then he winced as a gust of wind swirled around him and Bertilak.

  “Magic,” Bertilak said, and Thorn nodded. Ondric had just manifested a Tempest effect, a minor ’casting of air magic. And he hadn’t been speaking, he’d been Singing, crafting a series of tones with his voice that resulted in the gust of wind.